THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2

by Nicola Davidson

  Her sister grimaced sympathetically as she leaned over the low table between them to pour cups of tea. “A betrothal, a bedchamber wedding, and a funeral, here’s hoping the rest of February offers calm waters. I wish I could have assisted you with the mourning process. All those visitors, ugh.”

  “It was a never-ending parade,” said Pippa irritably. “And I’m bloody annoyed that I must wear black for the next three months for a man I despised. He was cold enough to Finn in public, but in private was downright cruel. As for those visitors, if one more had simpered that the old marquess was noble or virtuous or a crusader against sin, I would have shoved them off the nearest balcony.”

  “Sounds ghastly. Wait. I didn’t even think of it before, but you are Pippa Pearl Pinehurst.”

  “I know. It is a ridiculous plethora of P. If I were mathematically inclined, I could just write P cubed as my signature—”

  “Good morning, sisters!”

  Pippa glanced up at Georgiana’s too-chirpy greeting, ready to tease about tardiness, but the words froze on her tongue at the sight of the woman following her sister into the parlor.

  Grandmother.

  She raised an eyebrow at Gigi and received a dark scowl, confirming that the extra visitor was not by her choice.

  “Grandmother,” said Lilian stiffly. “I don’t recall inviting you.”

  “A disgraceful lapse in judgement, but I have decided to be charitable and forgive you,” said Lady Kingsford, settling herself onto a chair. “Now you may pour me some tea.”

  “We only have three cups.”

  “Then I will take Georgiana’s. She doesn’t need it, or any of those cakes. The gel is already verging on unfashionably plump.”

  Gigi made a brief stabbing motion behind their grandmother’s head. It was hard to know whether Lady Kingsford remained unaware how close she sailed to the jagged rocks of dowagercide on a daily basis, or if she just didn’t care.

  Sitting back so she wasn’t tempted to hurl the plate of cakes at the elderly woman, Pippa winked at her younger sister. “I’m glad to see you, Gigi. And as anyone in London would attest, you look scrumptious.”

  Lady Kingsford smoothed her gown. “That tone is unbecoming, but I suppose you look well enough, Pippa. And a marchioness now. Not as good as a duchess, but what can one do when a perfect match is ignored?”

  “I married the right man,” she replied, endeavoring to keep her voice calm and even.

  “He is a rake and a scatterbrain. Has Pinehurst even petitioned the Lord Chancellor for a writ of summons yet?”

  Pippa nodded smugly. “He has.”

  That had been something else she’d learned. An heir didn’t just wander into the House of Lords and take the seat after their father passed. There was a formal process, where they had to prove they were the legal heir, over the age of twenty-one, and a member of the Church of England. If and when the Lord Chancellor accepted the proof, the new peer was sent a writ of summons and could appear in the next session of the House to make his official oaths and declarations.

  “Well,” said Lady Kingsford smiling slightly. “That is something in his favor at least.”

  The back of Pippa’s neck prickled. Oh no. Not the shark smile.

  “Finlay is a wonderful man,” said Lilian warmly. “I’m so happy to have him as a brother-in-law.”

  “Me too,” said Georgiana. “Even if he doesn’t shower me with gifts.”

  Lady Kingsford reached for a currant bun from the tray and took the tiniest nibble. “I must say, I am surprised and disappointed to hear that. One would have thought you’d show your sister some family loyalty when her husband flaunts his mistress and child right under her nose.”

  As though all the air had been sucked from the room, the three sisters gasped.

  “What?” said Pippa sharply, as anger began to boil in her veins. Could she not just be happy without the devil’s unofficial handmaiden trying to destroy it in some way? “How dare you!”

  “Finlay doesn’t have either, and to say such a thing is nothing short of slander. I think you should leave,” said Lilian, glaring at their grandmother.

  “It is not slander if it’s true,” said Lady Kingsford. “Pinehurst keeps a townhouse in Golden Square.”

  Pippa’s breath escaped in a rush. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I know about that house. I’ve even been there and taken a tour of the business.”

  “How crass, even for Pinehurst. Did he introduce you to his mistress, or was she kept hidden? I understand she is a pretty redhead who goes by the name of Abby or Mrs. Overton.”

  Pippa went still as various conversations began clawing at her brain.

  “Good morning, my lord. Are you here to visit Miss Abby?”

  “Is she here? I thought Abby usually went visiting at this time.”

  “She is next door, visiting Miss Bridget. They often take tea together. Would you like me to go and fetch her?”

  “No! Ah…no. I shall see her next time.”

  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Finn had been so tense.

  “Who is Abby?”

  “An employee here. The one I told you about, with the little girl. I’m overprotective of her privacy; in the past she has been treated so badly by those around her.”

  A little girl.

  “Many noblemen are complete arses about baby girls. But they are wonderful and precious…”

  Pippa held her head as black spots danced in her vision, and for one horrible moment she thought she was going to faint.

  No. No. No.

  A hand began rubbing her back, alongside Lilian’s voice in her ear encouraging her to take deep breaths. But a scream of denial bubbled in her throat.

  Finn had said she didn’t have to share. That he had a particular preference for spectacle-wearing Pippets.

  “He kept my handkerchief,” she croaked, all strength, all composure gone as the earth rocked wildly beneath her. “He said he loved me.”

  “I’m sure Finlay can explain,” said Georgiana, her hands fluttering in distress.

  “Certainly, he can,” soothed Lilian, patting Pippa’s arm.

  “Don’t be foolish,” said Lady Kingsford smoothly, her eyes bright. “When it is yellow and quacks and paddles, it is a duck. But if you think this no more than gossip, go to Golden Square without invitation. Find out for yourself.”

  Trapped in the worst hell imaginable of possible Finn betrayal and her grandmother being correct, Pippa could only nod. Facts. She needed facts.

  “I will.”

  At the Golden Square townhouse, Finn closed the thigh-high gate behind him, glancing left and right past the mews. The entire journey here he’d felt the oddest prickling sensation of being followed. But when he’d looked around, all he’d seen were people going about their day; carts and carriages and hackneys minding their own business.

  Gah. This whole inheriting a title nonsense had scrambled his wits. But he’d needed to come here today to talk to Abby about meeting Pippa. Now that he was the marquess, they could construct any story about her past that Abby wanted, so she and Nerissa could visit. He was certain that Pippa would get on marvelously with his sister, and Nessie was just so much fun. Between her and Amanda, they would have plenty of opportunities to spend time with young ones until they decided to have children of their own.

  “Sweetie!”

  At the crow of delight, Finn laughed and crouched down on the tiny courtyard, waiting while Nessie staggered toward him on her plump toddler legs, Miss Wabbit clutched firmly in one hand. When she reached him, they went through their usual greeting ritual of a kiss for the rabbit and a hug for her. How long she indulged him depended entirely on how tired she was, then she would start patting his cravat in search of her favorite treat which would magically appear in his hand. He’d even purchased fresh marzipan for the occasion.

  “Nessie!”

  They both looked over to see Abby appear at the door of the townhouse, looking flushed and flustered.

  Finn s
ent her a sympathetic look. “Do I take it that her presence out here is a surprise?”

  “Not a surprise, but Nessie moves so damned fast. If I look away for a minute, she’s gone. My only saving grace is the fence, otherwise who knows where she would end up…Finlay, you’d better not be feeding her marzipan, I swear to God.”

  Nessie beamed at her mother, took the orange square out of her mouth and offered it over. “Sweetie is here.”

  “I have no idea where she got that,” said Finn innocently.

  Abby groaned. “It vexes me that is actually plausible. You wouldn’t believe the things I fish out of that mouth on a daily basis. Dirt. A button. A farthing. A bug. I swear I clean like a sinner trying to avoid purgatory and yet…”

  He frowned. “Abby?”

  When his sister’s shoulders slumped, Finn dashed forward and wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her into a tight hug. Much like Pippa, she rarely cried, so for her to break down, he could only imagine how bad things were.

  “Mama sad,” said Nessie anxiously, leaning over to kiss her cheek and leaving a sugary orange mark.

  “Mama is sad,” said Finn. “Is it something in particular, or just one of those days?”

  Abby dashed a hand across her eyes. “Not so much sad as overwhelmed.”

  “Is it Bliss-related?”

  “No. I…let’s go inside. A bit cold out here for a confessional. The sun might be trying to shine, but it is February not June.”

  Finn shifted Nessie to his other hip and followed Abby into the townhouse before shutting the door behind him. His niece was burrowing against his shoulder and starting to hum to herself rather than digging into the paper bag for more marzipan, a good indication she would soon be fast asleep. “Talk to me.”

  His sister placed her hands gently over Nessie’s ears. “I may have accidentally bedded a friend.”

  “Why is that overwhelming? Is the friend married?”

  “No. The friend…is…ah…”

  “Just say it, Abby. This coin-chewing marzipan moppet and her rabbit companion are getting heavier by the minute.”

  “The friend is Bridget.”

  Finn nodded slowly. Bridget was a talented sculptor who lived in the townhouse next door, and on the occasions he’d seen them together, the mutual attraction had been obvious. But when he’d suggested that Abby invite her to the theater or an intimate dinner for two, his sister had told him quite sharply that she did not fancy other women. “I see.”

  “How do you see when I don’t? Nessie’s nurse was here and I had a free hour so I went next door for a cup of tea. One thing led to another and…”

  “Accidental bedding. So, when are you going to see her again and explain that you do in fact fancy her, but it’s all very new and confusing and exciting so please be patient?” he asked.

  “I’m not. I mean, I can’t. Nessie—”

  “Don’t hide behind your daughter. That sounds like a convenient excuse not to talk to Bridget. Was your cup of tea so bad that she must be avoided?”

  Abby’s cheeks went bright red and she rubbed her arms and looked away. “No. But anyway, you’re a bold one to offer romantic advice, Lord of the Best Friend Pretend Betrothal Turned Bedchamber Marriage. Have you told your wife that you love her yet?”

  “Yes. Well, in a way. She didn’t hear me.”

  “Ha.”

  Finn scowled. “Good things take time. Let’s take this miss upstairs and put her to bed while I still have a functioning arm.”

  After tucking Nessie in her crib with Miss Wabbit, they walked back down to Abby’s second floor office. She kept the place as neat as a pin; every ledger, document, employee contract, sales docket, invoice, and order had its place in the large locked cupboards that lined the walls. They each had a desk, and in the east corner another locked cupboard held their money safe.

  “We’ve been getting a lot of orders since sending out those samples,” said Abby proudly, as she showed him a stack of papers. “I thought the madams might order the most, and they are, but those in the ton are not far behind. It’s been rather interesting seeing who wants what. Some are shockingly unexpected.”

  Finn snorted. “When I visited Theresa Berkley at the White House for some expert advice on the most comfortable and practical flogger grips, I also asked how she manages threats and protests. Theresa told me the ones who squawk loudest either have a recurring appointment, or want to examine every discipline room and hear every story in lurid detail. That dear lady knows as much about moral hypocrisy as anyone. It was timely advice, for a group of Father’s cronies not only want to close pleasure clubs, but also Bliss.”

  His sister made a growling sound. “Lord save us from the do-gooders. We have received a few angry notes alongside all the orders, but I burned those. In saying that though, as well as the post office box for privacy, I do think it would be prudent to hire a few burly footmen for added protection.”

  “Agreed. Success is one of those double-edged swords; we want Bliss to become well known, but it only takes one determined foe following our deliverymen, and next thing there is a melee in the square. The only people I want here are employees, you and Nessie, Bridget, and myself and Pippa. Who, by the by, I really would like you to meet.”

  Abby sat at her desk and propped her chin on her hands. “Very well. Next time you bring her here, I will meet her. I do feel a lot better about it now the old marquess is dead. And that I have a house of my own. It’s like two great burdens have been lifted from my shoulders.”

  “You’re not the only one who feels like that.”

  “So married life is going well?”

  He grinned. “Excellent. Truly. Pippa took charge of the menus and we redecorated that hideous library, which I’m planning to fill with romance novels and textbooks. My wife is inordinately fond of both. And we have tried out a number of the toys and accessories, and she has given me some extremely helpful opinions. I’m planning to go to my inventing room now and do some tinkering.”

  Abby pointed a quill at him. “I’m convinced your ideas would be twice as brilliant if you tidied that room. It’s as messy as Bridget’s sculpting studio. Creative types, forever wallowing in chaos.”

  “You sound like Pippa. But creative geniuses like Bridget and me will not be diverted by foolishness like tidying,” he said, winking as he sauntered out the office door.

  After trotting down two flights of stairs, Finn greeted a few of the staff who were enjoying a cup of tea in the kitchens, stole a freshly baked raisin bun, and made his way to the inventing room.

  Shit. It really was a mess.

  He’d been far too lust-blinkered last time to notice. Hopefully Pippa had been also, for nearly all available surfaces were covered in demi mask design sketches. Piles of boxes containing translated romance novels were stacked against one wall, there was a collection of empty teacups on the floor, half the candelabras needed fresh candles, and several partially-finished clay models of cock rings sat on his desk. On another table there were leather samples in a variety of colors and grades from tanners eager to do business, and rather hilariously, a lone jade dildo he’d been sanding to improve the shape was clamped in a vise.

  Perhaps he could do some tidying. Then compare the leather samples and see if one of them would suit as a belt for the double dildo, as Pippa had suggested.

  Finn took a large bite of his raisin bun, then began to stack sketches.

  He would clean so well, even his wife would be impressed.

  How did that saying go? Curiosity killed the cat?

  In this case, curiosity had broken her heart. No. Shattered it into a thousand pieces.

  Pippa braced one hand against the cold stone wall of the tiny mews, wishing she’d never made the journey to Golden Square. Wishing she’d left Lilian’s parlor as soon as her grandmother entered the room, instead of having her entire world turned upside down and crushed beneath the unforgiving hammer of reality. It was one thing to hear the words, especially fro
m a forked tongue like Grandmother’s. It was quite something else, however, to have those words confirmed with her own eyes.

  Finn had a mistress. And a daughter. Not a baby, but a toddler. And he loved them both very much; she’d witnessed the easy, warm affection as he’d scooped the little one up and skillfully settled her on his hip. As he’d held the redhead against him. The knowledge that her husband loved another woman hurt like a dagger to the soul, but perhaps even worse was the knowledge that he’d been lying to her for years. For the first time in her life, Pippa the rock wanted to curl up under a blanket and weep.

  “Pippa? Pippa! We’ve stayed here too long already; I really think we should go before anyone sees us loitering.”

  She opened her eyes and stared almost uncomprehendingly at Natalie. Her good-hearted friend had offered to accompany her here and such support had been invaluable. But now Natalie’s looks of anxious concern and her sympathetic arm pats, might well bring on that prolonged bout of weeping before she could retreat to an empty room. “Yes. Er…what?”

  “We cannot stay here,” said Natalie more firmly, but still gently, the way one might speak to a woman in hysterics.

  Good lord. Was she having hysterics? That would be another first.

  “Am I screaming?” Pippa mumbled in embarrassment.

  Natalie shook her head. “No, thank heavens. The last thing we want is the neighbors running to see what the matter is. But you are leaning against that mews like my uncle leans against the mantelpiece after he’s had a dozen brandies…forgive me, Pippa. I don’t know what to say that will make you feel better. When you told me what happened at your sister’s, I prayed that your grandmother was wrong, I really did. But…”

  “So, it wasn’t just me who saw them?”

  “Alas not. A pretty redhead and a sweet toddler, both who are held in great affection by Lord Pinehurst. The only other explanation is family, and you said there aren’t even any cousins.”

  “No,” said Pippa dully, so numb inside she could barely feel her fingers and toes. “His late father was an only child, as is his mother, and Finn…Lord Pinehurst…has no brothers or sisters. The dowager marchioness couldn’t have any more babies after him. He told me that. And everyone would know if the old marquess had an illegitimate child. The way he railed against immorality and unwed women with swollen bellies…the scandal sheets and opposing politicians would have hounded him out of London for such hypocrisy.”